Author's note: Ahhhhhhhh. Now that I know someone is reading and
enjoying the basic concept, I shall feel a touch better about wasting
mental energy writing this.
Minerva
Minerva McGonagal looked from the letter in her hands to the three stern faces in front of her. "How is it," she thought, "that these three children turned so grim?" She had watched Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.....no, wait.....she was a Weasley now, wasn't she? The ancient professor shook her head. "I am glad you are not here to see this, Albus," she prayed silently to the missing headmaster. "We had higher hopes for this generation."
"What do you think?" Hermione asked.
Minerva looked up. Of the three, Hermione had changed the most. She was colder, seldom smiled, always wore her hair back in a tight bun. Minerva could see wisps of gray in her hair. "It can't be Hermione! You are only Twenty-seven." But it was, and Hermione's humor was growing as gray as her hair, becoming more and more annoyed with slight offences to what Hermione thought were very natural standing rules.
She looked back down at the letter, reading the neat hand of the newest Malfoy:
To Whom It May Concern:
After considering our options, my husband and I have decided to seek political asylum with you in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although I did not attend at this institution, Draco assures me we will be safe as defects from the Death Eater Army. In return for your protection, kindness, and silence, we shall offer any intelligence on the movements of Death Eater activity. Please do not send word by owl, for it might be intercepted by our now mutual enemy. Leave your response by the grate that you found this. I shall come for the answer in exactly one week's time. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Ina Malfoy
Order of Merlin, First Class.
"What should we do?" Harry asked.
"I have never trusted a man who would expose his neighbors, but, if these two are truly seeking asylum, they shall receive it. We shall, however, not take chances. They are never to be left alone. Letters sent and received must be screened by all members of the Order, and they are not to leave the premise until this war is over."
"Yes Ma'am," all repeated in unison. McGonagal smiled. "Just like old times. How I wish they would return!"
Minerva
Minerva McGonagal looked from the letter in her hands to the three stern faces in front of her. "How is it," she thought, "that these three children turned so grim?" She had watched Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.....no, wait.....she was a Weasley now, wasn't she? The ancient professor shook her head. "I am glad you are not here to see this, Albus," she prayed silently to the missing headmaster. "We had higher hopes for this generation."
"What do you think?" Hermione asked.
Minerva looked up. Of the three, Hermione had changed the most. She was colder, seldom smiled, always wore her hair back in a tight bun. Minerva could see wisps of gray in her hair. "It can't be Hermione! You are only Twenty-seven." But it was, and Hermione's humor was growing as gray as her hair, becoming more and more annoyed with slight offences to what Hermione thought were very natural standing rules.
She looked back down at the letter, reading the neat hand of the newest Malfoy:
To Whom It May Concern:
After considering our options, my husband and I have decided to seek political asylum with you in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although I did not attend at this institution, Draco assures me we will be safe as defects from the Death Eater Army. In return for your protection, kindness, and silence, we shall offer any intelligence on the movements of Death Eater activity. Please do not send word by owl, for it might be intercepted by our now mutual enemy. Leave your response by the grate that you found this. I shall come for the answer in exactly one week's time. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Ina Malfoy
Order of Merlin, First Class.
"What should we do?" Harry asked.
"I have never trusted a man who would expose his neighbors, but, if these two are truly seeking asylum, they shall receive it. We shall, however, not take chances. They are never to be left alone. Letters sent and received must be screened by all members of the Order, and they are not to leave the premise until this war is over."
"Yes Ma'am," all repeated in unison. McGonagal smiled. "Just like old times. How I wish they would return!"